Common Cause
by kepulver
Summary: G1 Transformers and GI Joe crossover. The Combaticons invade the United States and things don't go as smoothly as they planned.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Originally started for Caring Combaticons back in June 2006; takes place in approximately 1993. This story is in the same universe as my other main Transformers universe (which is not the same universe as my other GI Joe fics). Uses a mix of GI Joe cartoon and comic canon as well as my usual cherry picked Transformerly goodness.

**Thanks to: **CalyhexInmate, ChaosAngel, EagleEyeJoe, Newsy, Amykay73 and Nightfire99201 for beta-reading services.

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**Common Cause:**

Given a choice between stepping before the Jugglers conference room and walking into Cobra Commander's throne room, Hawk had to admit he'd have to think about his decision. But he was pretty sure Cobra Commander would be happier to see him.

General Crowther, current leader of the Jugglers, sat at the center of the conference table and glared at Hawk as if Hawk owed him money. Flanking him, Generals Gibbs and Winters looked equally unhappy at Hawks' continued presence in the world in general and their conference room in particular.

The rest of the Jugglers took their cues from their leaders, making Hawk feel as welcome as a pregnant cat.

"General Abernathy," Crowther said, foregoing Hawk's _nom de guerre_. "You've been brought here to report on the status of the Joes' cross-training with the Autobots. How close is your team to completing their assignment?"

"Our initial team has completed the course," Hawk said, letting his pride for his team show. "We've almost completed Selection for the next group. They'll be in the pipeline by the end of this month and should complete training in another six months."

"Not soon enough." General Gibbs frowned as if he smelled something foul. "Your people are supposed to be the best we have. You should be able to select candidates without all this folderol. What's taking so blasted long?"

Hawk smiled and shrugged, pleased to see that his nonchalance only served to make Gibbs's face go redder. "Our initial team was made up of volunteers who had skills that seemed best suited to training with the Autobots. Our initial class showed us places where we were missing key skills. Our current Selection is an attempt to fill those gaps."

Now it was Winters' turn to jump in. "So your team isn't ready? You mean to tell us we've wasted six months of time and money and the Joes aren't ready? What have your people been doing, Abernathy?"

_Writing the book on xenological warfare._ Hawk didn't say. "Training hard to the fullest extent of their abilities," he said. "Not only in the field, but in the classroom. The Autobots have been extremely helpful in terms of educating us about their culture and the history of their war."

"You're supposed to be learning about how to destroy them." This from a lieutenant general seated next to General Gibbs; Hawk didn't recognize him, probably the newest member brought in since Malthus had landed himself in Leavenworth.

"The Autobots are our allies," Hawk said. "We're developing tactics with them to use against the Decepticons. Understanding the history of their war helps us to know how to fight the Decepticons."

"Keep in mind Abernathy, that allegiances can shift," Crowther said. "The Autobots are allies now, but we expect you and your team will know where their loyalties lie should things change."

"I do." Hawk looked Crowther square in the eyes. "And my team most certainly does." He held Crowther's gaze until the other man looked away.

"Dismissed, Abernathy." Crowther waved a hand. Hawk saluted and left the room.

**X X X **

General Crowther stayed quiet after Hawk left, waiting for the others to speak first -- the better to judge their reaction.

"We need to do something about Hawk and GI Joe." General Gibbs pushed roughly back from the conference table and began pacing the room, rhythmically pounding the fist of one hand into the palm of the other. "Can you believe that arrogant devil? He practically _told _us his team would follow him and him alone."

"He's always been a grandstander." General Winters glared at the door Hawk had just exited through, as if some sympathetic magic would allow him to fry Hawk by proxy. "And the Joes are his own private cult of personality. How a glorified desk jockey like him ever gained command of a unit like the Joes is beyond me."

"Particularly when we all know you wanted that command for yourself." Crowther held up a hand to preemptively silence Winters. "Save it. I agree with you both. However, unlike either of you, I have a plan to do something about it. Not only to disgrace Hawk but also to eliminate the Joes as our military's counter-xenological strike force."

_That_ got their attention. Gibbs stopped pacing, looking warily at Crowther. "What do you have in mind?"

"The American public has no appreciation for failure, particularly not from its armed forces. And most especially not from the heroes of GI Joe." Crowther paused. "If we can show that the Joes cannot protect Americans from the Decepticons -- on American soil, no less -- we can help guide them away from dependence on Abernathy's pack of misfits and towards more reliable defenders."

His fellow Jugglers were quiet, each weighing his words carefully.

"An interesting plan," Gibbs said. "But how do we guarantee the Joes' failure?"

"And, more importantly, who are these more reliable defenders you're talking about?" asked Winters.

"First things first," Crowther said. "The Decepticons are known to monitor our communications net for information. We simply stage a leak, inadvertently informing them of the Joes' new capabilities. Then, we wait for them to make the next move. If they're anything like Cobra, they'll jump for the bait like a shark after chum."

"Is that -- I mean, that can't be ethical." This came from the lieutenant general seated next to Gibbs. Crowther frowned, trying to recall the man's name.

"Broca, isn't it?" The man nodded and Crowther continued. "Is it ethical to allow a potential incompetent to remain in power? No, of course not. Consider this a test for the Joes. If they pass it, then clearly they are the team for the job. If they fail, better that they be replaced before too much damage is done."

"Yes, but replaced by whom?" Winter's peevishness brought Crowther's attention back to him.

"I'm getting to that," Crowther said as there came a knock at the door. "Gibbs, since you're up, get that."

Muttering darkly, Gibbs opened the door and stepped back as a man clad in a dark suit that positively radiated "government agent" stepped in.

"Gentlemen," Crowther said. "Allow me to introduce Forrest Forsythe, director of the Intelligence and Information Institute."

Forsythe's smile as he nodded to the assembled Jugglers would not ave been out of place on a junkyard dog sizing up an intruder. "Pleasure's all mine," Forsythe said, shoving a stack of reports at General Gibbs. "Be a pal; hand those out."

"What business is this of the III?" asked Winters as Gibbs, too startled to protest, began handing out the reports.

"III is in the same business you gentlemen are," Forsythe said. "We want to help insure the protection of the American people against all threats, foreign, domestic and extraterrestrial. General Crowther approached me personally to see what we might be able to do about our mutual robotic problem. And if you'll turn to page one, I can introduce you to the solution -- the Rapid Anti-robot Assault Team." Forsythe's junkyard dog grin widened. "R.A.A.T. for short."

**X X X **

In the short time he'd been on Earth -- or at least awake and aware on Earth -- Optimus Prime had dealt with a wide variety of humans. Good, bad and all the shades in between. But he'd never met a human who both annoyed and frightened him the way General Thurston Crowther did. Even when the man was being outwardly pleasant, there was an undercurrent of menace about him that made Prime's diodes ache. Particularly when Crowther's image was blown up to triple life size by Teletraan-1's viewscreen.

"Mr. Prime, I just wanted to take the opportunity to thank you, once again, for the assistance you and your people have given the United States by helping to train the Joes." Crowther's smile was as broad and as fake as his perfectly even teeth. His eyes, on the other hand, were anything but pleased .

"You're welcome, General." Prime nodded politely. "We're looking forward to working with the Joes in the future. General Hawk and I feel their presence will make a big difference in our battles with the Decepticons."

"Yes, indeed," Crowther said. "I've just spoken to General Hawk. He seemed very pleased with his team's performance and your cooperation. Still, I feel it is important for you to understand that the Pentagon wants the Joes to stand on their own two feet, as it were."

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand." Prime said.

Crowther looked pained. "In the event of a Decepticon attack on US soil, the GI Joe team will be our first, last and -- per Pentagon directives -- our only line of defense. You and the Autobots are, unfortunately, currently forbidden from getting involved. At least until the Joes have proved themselves worthy of this new role."

"But, that's ludicrous!" Optimus said. "General Crowther, please! The Joes are good, but the Decepticons are difficult adversaries even for my people. Perhaps if I speak to the Joint Chiefs, maybe I can help them realize the gravity of the situation and the foolishness of that order."

Crowther shook his head. "I'm afraid it would do no good -- politics, I'm sure you understand. The G.I. Joe team is expected to be able to handle this sort of mission and when the time comes they'll need to show they can stand on their own."

"But surely, the threat posed to civilians warrants our continued involvement," Prime said, almost pleading now.

Crowther frowned and for a brief instant, Prime thought he saw a glint of amusement in the general's eyes. "I'm afraid the sentiment is that if the Joes can't win on their own, they aren't worth the expense."

Prime stared at the general, too dumbfounded to speak. Crowther took the opportunity to continue speaking.

"I'll appreciate it if you keep your people out of any fights, at least in U.S. territory," Crowther said. "I have every confidence that the Joes will perform as expected -- and, besides, the UN General Assembly meets next month. I would think that would be your primary concern, rather than a hypothetical battle. It's about your fuel ration, isn't it? The meeting I mean."

"Yes."

"Good luck. I hear the President hasn't quite made up his mind about the US's portion of your appropriation. If I can assist in any way, by putting in a good word, perhaps, please let me know. Senator Hegel is a close, personal friend."

"Thank you." Prime kept his temper with an effort. "I'll consider the offer, General."

"You're welcome and good day, Crowther out." The viewscreen went blank as Crowther signed off.

"I'll consider it a bribe, though for what I'm not sure." Prime muttered to himself, pressing a button on Teletraan-1's console. "Red Alert, I know you were listening in. Do me a favor, unofficially?"

"Depends what it is, Prime," Red Alert said with his characteristic wariness.

"Have Blaster and Cosmos monitor the Joes' communication frequencies. If they get into trouble, make sure they know they have a lifeline from us."

"Of course, Optimus," Red Alert said. "I'll make sure they get the word. Red out."

It said something that Red Alert agreed so quickly. As the Autobots' security director, Red had been adamantly opposed to cross training with the Joes, objecting almost violently to the idea of training humans to fight and defeat Cybertronians. Clearly, Crowther's odiousness wasn't entirely a figment of Prime's imagination. The thought wasn't the least bit comforting.

**X X X **

"Vortex, you are an idiot!" Swindle pushed back from the pump where the Combaticons were refueling and approached Vortex with murderous intent in his optics. "Seriously, you are without a doubt the dumbest rust sack I have ever met!"

"And yet, I still scored higher than you on the Standardized Intelligence Test," Vortex said, his optics glowing beatifically. "Even after you cheated."

"I did not cheat!" Swindle yelled as he took a step forward, fists clenched.

"Then it's the first time you didn't!" Vortex giggled, backing away.

"I did not cheat!" Swindle followed him, getting face to faceplate with Vortex.

"Did too!" Vortex sang.

"Did _not!"_ Swindle threw the first punch and in a matter of seconds, the two Combaticons were grappling together, pummeling each other mercilessly.

"Really, Onslaught," Blast Off said. "I don't see why we don't just refuel them in their sleep. Or, better yet, put them somewhere else -- like outside. Or Mars."

Onslaught set down his data pad. 'They're bored, Blast Off," he said, gesturing for Brawl to deal with the fight. "I can't blame them; Megatron hasn't had much use for us lately. It's making us all edgy."

"Indeed," Blast Off said. "And this blasted storm isn't helping matters either."

"No, it's not." Onslaught watched as Brawl grabbed Swindle and Vortex by their necks and slammed their heads together. He winced as feedback crackled over their gestalt connection.

"A little more gently next time, if you please Brawl," Onslaught said. "There's really no reason to hit them hard enough that Bruticus can feel it."

"Slag you!" Brawl snapped. "You wanted them shut up, I shut 'em up. Don't like it, do it yourself next time."

"Ow." Vortex prodded the side of his head. "I think Brawl knocked something loose. I feel tingly."

"Knocked something _else_ loose, y'mean." Swindle got shakily to his feet. "Twitchy."

"Stumpy." Vortex drew the word out. "Swindle's a minibot!"

"I'm as tall as you are!" Swindle shook a finger in Vortex's face. "And rotors don't count!"

"Do so," Vortex said. "Essential equipment counts, minibot."

"Do not!" Swindle's fists clenched again.

"Brawl?" Onslaught sighed. 'If you wouldn't mind?"

"Like you're gonna do it if I don't." Brawl reached out for them again.

"We didn't do anything yet!" Swindle whined, looking at Brawl and the others with an expression of wounded innocence.

"Geeze, a guy tries to have a discussion an' you have to jump in an' stifle everything," Vortex said as Swindle held out a hand for him and pulled him back up. "Thank you, Swindle. Shall we finish refueling?"

"Certainly," Swindle said with exaggerated politeness as the pair moved back toward the pump.

"Children," muttered Blast Off.

"Onslaught, report to primary communications room," Rumble said over the undersea base's loudspeakers. "Soundwave wants t'see you _now._"

"I wonder what he wants now," Blast Off said.

"Anything I should be aware of, gentlemen?" Onslaught asked as he stood to leave. "Swindle?"

"Okay, that hurts, Ons. That really hurts." Swindle smirked. "But, no, nothing that shoulda caught the spook's attention at least."

"Good," Onslaught said. "Brawl, you're in charge while I'm gone."

"You got it, Onslaught," Brawl said.

**X X X **

Onslaught stepped into the communications room and stood girder-straight as he waited for Soundwave to turn away from the viewscreen he was studying.

On the screen, Onslaught caught sight of a weather map of the area directly above the undersea base. The nor'easter that had kept the base's crew stuck underwater for the last three days appeared to be breaking up.

"It will be safe to raise the tower again in approximately two hours." Scrapper's raspy voice sounded from a nearby speaker.

"Acknowledged." Soundwave flipped a switch and turned to face Onslaught. As he always did in Soundwave's presence, Onslaught dropped his gaze to the floor. The gesture was not only humble, it also allowed him to avoid looking directly into Soundwave's optic band. Anything to avoid giving the telepathic glitch an edge.

"Onslaught: mission for Combaticons. Americans have developed anti-Decepticon strike force. Megatron wishes to test capabilities. Assemble Combaticons. Departure: two hours."

"Of course, Soundwave," Onslaught said, trying not to sound too eager. "What are the mission parameters?

"Engage strike force. Test capabilities. Destroy strike force," Soundwave said, his entire manner cold and impassive. He could have been ordering a new paint job for all the interest he showed.

"Yes, Soundwave." In contrast, Onslaught felt his excitement rising at the prospect of a fight. "What information do we have on the humans?"

"Download necessary information from mainframe," Soundwave said. "Upon completion, return to base for debriefing."

"Yes, Soundwave." Onslaught turned to leave. "We will accomplish our mission without delay." He switched to his radio. "Combaticons, assemble in our quarters, we have a mission to plan!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two:**

General Hawk strode into the briefing room, heading for the podium at the front. Once there, he looked over the assembled Joes and fought hard to keep his displeasure in check.

_Fourteen Joes, fifteen with me and double that many Greenshirts; plus the MOBAT and Rolling Thunder's crews. It's not enough. We're not ready._

He snorted. _Like that's ever stopped us before. We'll do this for the same reason we do anything, because we're the only ones who can._

"Alright," Hawk said, calling the room to attention. "I'm not going to sugarcoat this. We have a Decepticon attack underway in Rhode Island. This is not a drill. We will be going in locked and loaded." He paused. "And we'll be going in solo."

A murmur ran through the room. "I know, I know," Hawk said. "Orders from on top, we've got to prove we're worth the money the taxpayers have spent on us. The Autobots were told they're to stay out of this one. We're on our own, but that's nothing new. Now, for the nitty-gritty."

Behind Hawk, a viewscreen turned on, showing footage of a group of robots surrounding an office building.

"This is the Havefam toy company's corporate headquarters," Hawk said. "We're not sure why they've been singled out. They're not an energy producer and they don't have any special secret projects that would interest the Decepticons."

'Maybe Megatron wants a Mr. Tomato Head?" A chuckle ran through the room at Mainframe's joke.

"Well then, he needs to hit Toys R Us like everybody else." This time, the collective chuckle was louder. "Alright, listen up," Hawk said and the room came to attention. "It's 'know your enemy' time."

The image on the screen changed, tightening up on the robots.

"These five individuals are the Combaticons," Hawk said. "Preliminary reports have them first appearing on Earth approximately seven years ago. Apparently, they were created during an internal power struggle between the Decepticon higher-ups back in '86."

"Nice guys," Sci-fi drawled from where he slouched in his chair. "Real cuddly."

"Oh they're sweethearts alright," Hawk said, as the image of a large teal and grey robot appeared on the screen, "This is Onslaught, their leader. His alt-mode is a missile trailer. He's their strategist; he calls all the shots and as such, he'll be our primary concern."

The image on the screen changed, this time showing a reddish brown robot with a strangely flat face.

"We're lucky; current reports indicate this guy's still on the ground," Hawk said. "Blast Off is a space shuttle. In orbit, he could fry an egg on the sidewalk, which is why the _Defiant_ is on standby just in case. Luckily, he's physically the weakest of them all. He's our secondary concern; if he tries to take off, I want him grounded, ASAP."

The next slide was a tan and purple robot with an open, friendly face.

"Do not let the smile fool you," Hawk said. "Swindle's one of the nastier of the bunch. There are rumors of him selling Decepticon technology on the international black market; we're pretty sure he's the one we have to thank for Cobra getting its hands on rail gun technology. Cover Girl, I'd like you and Grand Slam to make sure he knows just how much we appreciate that."

Cover Girl grinned. "You got it, General. We'll make sure he knows exactly how happy we are about that."

Chuckling, Hawk switched slides, showing an image of a grey and black Super Seasprite helicopter. "Wild Bill, Lift-Ticket, this is your target. We'll do what we can to back you up but I think you can handle Vortex," Hawk said as the slides changed again. "Armadillo, Steeler, I want you to focus on Brawl. His alt mode is a Leopard I main battle tank. Like Onslaught, he's big and strong, but all reports I have indicate he's only slightly smarter than this podium."

"We want to keep the individual Combaticons harassed and harried. If we bother them enough, maybe, just maybe they'll get tired of the fight and leave. If not, we may be facing this." Hawk paused, and then brought up the next slide. There were gasps and muffled curses from around the room as the assembled Joes looked up at the image of a giant robot, grappling with a water tower.

"As if the individual Combaticons weren't bad enough," Hawk said. "They're also a gestalt team -- what the brain boxes at MIT and JPL call a -- what's the word, Mainframe?"

"Fusilateral-quintrocombiner," Mainframe said. "The five of them are able to combine into a larger robot -- kind of like the Protectobots, but I doubt Fugly here ever stops to help kittens out of trees."

"Hardly," Hawk said. "If they're allowed to merge into this form, our chances of survival are approximately nil. And chances are high that they will attempt combination."

"Great! Do I have time to write my mom first?" Steeler yelled, "I want to explain to her why I couldn't wear clean underwear today."

"Why should today be different from any other day, Steeler?" Cover Girl asked innocently.

Nervous giggles ran around the room, easing some of the tension.

"If they do merge," Armadillo asked, "what's the plan?"

"Stop the merge at the source," Hawk said. "Onslaught forms the torso, so if they start to form Bruticus, we'll hit him with the Rolling Thunder and the MOBAT. It may not stop them, but we can at least try to discourage them."

Hawk paused, looking out over his soldiers for what he hoped would not be the last time. "Any questions? No? Good, head out and load up. We leave for Pawtucket in fifteen minutes. Yo Joe!"

"Yo Joe!"

**X X X**

Onslaught surveyed the scene, feeling a certain amount of smug pride in his teammates.

So far, his plan was working splendidly. Vortex was keeping a lookout for the Joes, while Swindle and Brawl busied themselves clearing human vehicles out of the parking lot and stacking them into barricades. Blast Off stood guard near the office building, ensuring no humans were foolish enough to try to escape.

And Onslaught watched over them all, trying to contain his excitement. He hoped the Joes would arrive soon. He wanted this fight so badly his relays ached for it. The Combaticons' last encounter with human fighters had not gone well, but this battle would prove finally that that had been only a fluke. Their victory would wash away the stain of failure.

That it would also please Megatron was a not-inconsiderable bonus. Their status was slightly more stable now, thanks to Bruticus, but anything that would keep them in Megatron's favor and show their worth as individuals would help insure that survival.

Onslaught felt his shoulders slump slightly. Politics was an exhausting game, but there was no way he could stop playing.

**X X X**

General Crowther sat in his office, studying an aerial photograph of the Autobots' primary base in Oregon. The photograph had been taken using a spy satellite that only a handful of people knew existed; one with imaging equipment so advanced it could read the fine print on an insurance policy from the Moon. It should have provided a perfect opportunity to capture detailed images of the Autobots' compound with them being none the wiser and yet, the damned pictures were blurry and out of focus as if something had deliberately interfered with the cameras. Either the Autobots were on to them or they had someone truly paranoid in charge of their security.

Scowling, Crowther picked up the written report that had accompanied the photographs and skimmed it. The analysts at the Intelligence and Information Institute had done their best to make sense of the jumbled images but their best had consisted largely of guesswork and conjecture. None of which did anything to improve Crowther's mood.

The phone rang. Glancing at it, Crowther saw that it was his private line. He let it ring a second time before picking it up. "Crowther," he said. "What is it?"

"You sound cranky, Thurston." Forrest Forsythe, director of the III, sounded consolatory which only served to annoy Crowther more. "What's the matter? Gotten some bad news?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Crowther snapped back. "I've been looking at that report your people prepared for me. I could have gotten better results if I'd sent in a pack of Boy Scouts on tour."

"I've got something that should make up for the bad pictures" Forsythe chuckled. "You have a TV in that office, don't you, Thurston?

"Yes," Crowther said. "Why?"

"Turn it on and turn to CNN," Forsythe said. "There's something there that I'm pretty sure will cheer you up."

Crowther reached into a drawer for the remote and turned the TV on, leaning back in his seat as the image came into focus. On screen, a good-looking Hispanic man was sitting behind the newsreader's desk with an appropriately professional expression of detached sympathy on his face. A caption identified him as Hector Ramirez.

"Members of the GI Joe special missions team are currently engaged in a stand-off against several Decepticons," Ramirez was saying. "The Decepticons, positively identified as members of the Combaticon combiner team, initially landed at the Havefam Toys corporate headquarters. Reports from inside the building say that there are casualties but no fatalities currently."

"RAAT will be a reality before we know it," Forsythe said, sounding almost zealously smug. "And then, the robots will be handled properly. No more treaties. No more hand-outs. No more secrets."

"And the Joes will be a distant memory." Crowther chuckled. "You're right, Forsythe, this does cheer me up."

**X X X**

"Prime!" Blaster turned back from Teletraan-1. "We gotta Decepticon attack on the East Coast; Combaticons are hitting an office building in Rhode Island!"

"Protectobots're in the area," Ironhide said. "We can send 'em in to help back up th' Joes. They were the team worked closest with th' humans anyway."

"No." Optimus shook his head sadly, bracing himself for the inevitable outburst and trying not to feel sick. "We've been asked to stay out of this fight."

"What?!" Ironhide stared at Prime, open-mouthed. "Prime, that's crazy! Th' Joes are good but they can't stand against the Combaticons alone! What if they merge? Never mind the Joes, we could be lookin' at thousands of casualties!"

"The Americans do not want us getting involved," Prime said, turning toward the viewscreen with an effort. "They want the Joes to prove themselves." Prime held up his hands as if to ward off the others' protests. "I don't like the idea any better than the rest of you do, but I cannot overstep my authority without seriously damaging our position."

"Politics." Ironhide scowled as he said the word. It wasn't a curse; Ironhide enjoyed cursing. "It's dirty, Optimus. Just plain dirty. The Joes deserve better'n that."

"Need I remind you, Ironhide, we're a minority on this planet," Red Alert said as he stepped into the command center. "Violating this request is just the sort of thing that fuels anti-Cybertronian rhetoric. Would you _really_ like to find yourself fighting the humans as well as the Decepticons? They've already shown a willingness to toss nuclear devices at each other, would you like them to start lobbing them at us?"

"You know I damn well don't." Ironhide's scowl deepened. "But how's it gonna look if we just stand back an' let the Joes get pasted?"

"The Joes seemed perfectly capable of holding their own in the exercises I watched," Red Alert said. "In fact, I think we taught them too much. That sort of knowledge has a way of migrating, like a virus. Just because we can trust the Joes doesn't mean we can trust other humans."

"So we should let 'em die?" Ironhide looked to Optimus, his face pleading. "Let me go; you can tell 'em I didn't hear the order, that I went rogue. I'll take full responsibility for what happens, Optimus, but please let me go help!"

Red Alert sniffed before Prime could answer. "Hardly acceptable," he said. "You're a member of our high command -- publicly known to be one of Optimus's closest advisors -- and only a fool would believe you weren't aware of the order."

Ironhide's fists clenched and Optimus knew his old friend's temper was at the end of its tether. "He's right," Optimus said, reaching out to put a restraining hand on Ironhide's shoulder. "I hate it as much as you do, but Red's right."

"On the other hand," Red Alert said, continuing as if this were a normal conversation. "Hot Spot and the Protectobots are rather low-ranking soldiers. Their orders will be to observe and assist local rescue units in the area. Of course, should they rashly decide to assist the Joes rather than follow those orders, that would be a matter for internal discipline for us to handle as per the Swiss Treaty of 1986. Though I hardly think anyone could fault them for wanting to assist our adopted planet, now could they?"

Optimus felt some of the tension leave Ironhide's frame and heard his friend let out a low chuckle. "Red, I'm glad you're on our side," Ironhide said. "'Cause I'd hate it if the bad guys had a mind like yours on their side."

**X X X**

"Hot Spot, what's your status?" Red Alert sounded agitated, but then he almost always sounded agitated about something.

"We're just outside New Haven, Connecticut, taking a breather," Hot Spot said. "Groove wanted us to take in more of the scenery on the way back so him and Streetwise are plotting a new course for us. I'll be submitting it once they get it worked out."

"Correction," Red Alert said. "We need you to divert to Pawtucket, Rhode Island. The Combaticons are attacking."

"Not a problem," Hot Spot said. "We can take those grease balls down and still be back in time for _X-Files_."

"No, you're not to engage the enemy," Red Alert said. "The Joes are on scene; let them handle it. That's what their leaders want."

"That's crazy!" Hot Spot said.

"So I've been told." Red Alert's tone was dry. "Still, for the time being you are to let the Joes handle things themselves. Should the situation get out of hand, then you can step in. In the mean time, you are there only as observers and to assist any civilian law enforcement or emergency aid agencies that are on site. Is that understood?"

Hot Spot didn't answer. The Autobots weren't overly strict, but Hot Spot was pretty sure that telling Red Alert just how monstrously unfair and idiotic his orders were would rate disciplinary action. "Aye-aye, sir," he said.

"I leave it to you to determine how in control the situation is," Red Alert said. "I feel I can trust your judgment in this."

Hot Spot's optics blinked. Red Alert? Trusting him? Trusting _anybody_? The same Red Alert who once held Optimus Prime at gunpoint when the big guy had failed to give the right response to a security challenge? "Uhm, th-thanks Red," he said.

"You're welcome." Red Alert chuckled. "Just make sure you don't wait too long to help the Joes, understood?"


	3. Chapter 3

-1**Chapter Three:**

Hawk prided himself on being unflappable. One had to be when leading the Joes, and not only because Cobra favored schemes better suited to Hollywood blockbusters than to military campaigns. Anyone who commanded a unit with Shipwreck as a member couldn't afford to be flappable.

But seeing a Leopard 1 main battle tank _stand up_ and throw a Honda Civic at his people was almost enough to flap him like a flag in the breeze.

"Steeler! Keep firing! Zap, Short Fuse! Push them back away from the building!" Hawk ordered, twisting the wheel of his Desert Fox to avoid a blast from Vortex's glue gun. "This is just like training, people! Just like practice! Keep it together!"

As Hawk watched, a shell flew toward Brawl. The trajectory was good; it would be a solid hit, possibly enough to knock the big lummox out of the fight. Or it would have been, if the damned robot hadn't reverted to tank mode, sending the shell flying uselessly over the top of him.

"He ducked!" Beside Hawk, Dial-Tone's jaw dropped. "The bastard _ducked!_ Hawk, they're playing with us! This is like a game to them!"

"I know and we can't stop playing," Hawk said. "We just have to make this game unfun and fast!"

**X X X**

So far, Onslaught was unimpressed by the Joes. Oh, they fought fiercely to be sure, but they were clearly hampered by their need to protect the hostages. The Combaticons had no such restraints. Just the opposite, in fact -- they were taking turns using the building as cover of a sort, standing in front or beside it to fire at the Joes, knowing that their opponents would be loathe to risk missing and hitting the hostages inside. The humans distress -- both Joe and hostage -- was adding to his brothers' enjoyment; the Combaticons' common frequency was full of jokes and taunts as they bantered with each other.

Still, they'd gathered more than enough data; it was time to end things once and for all.

"Combaticons! Merge into Bruticus!"

**X X X**

"Combaticons! Merge into Bruticus!"

Those were the words they'd been trained to listen for. Even the Autobots couldn't explain precisely _why_ the command to merge was always shouted, but Armadillo wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Not if it meant they had a better chance of stopping this thing.

As he watched, the Combaticons leapt into the air, moving together as if drawn by a magnet. Their bodies twisted and changed as they shifted from vehicles to robots to limbs. Beside him, he could hear his gunner Jorgenson swearing. Or praying. Or maybe both. Not that Armadillo blamed him. No amount of training could have prepared them for this -- Defensor and Superion were big scary robots, but they were big scary robots who didn't want to hurt them. Bruticus's components were unfriendly enough on their own; merged chances were slim that they'd mellow out.

"Wait for Steeler's signal," Armadillo said, marveling at how calm he sounded. "When he gives the word, then we let loose."

"Yeah, okay." Jorgenson sounded young and scared, but he did as he was told, holding his shot until Steeler's "Fire!" came over the radio.

The MOBAT and the Rolling Thunder's main guns roared to life, their shells hitting Bruticus's chest like a one-two punch, knocking the giant robot to the ground.

As the echo of the shots and the vibrations from Bruticus's collapse faded, Jorgenson blinked. "Holy -- did we get him?" he asked in a small, awed voice.

"Dunno," Armadillo said, working his jaw in hopes of making his ears pop. "But Lord, I hope it was that easy."

**X X X**

"What's the word on the scene, Streetwise?" Hot Spot asked as he followed behind his fellow Protectobot. They were making good time, thanks to Streetwise's knowledge of the area and the fact that only the most foolhardy driver would ignore a convoy of emergency vehicles with their sirens blaring.

"Scanners indicate minimal casualties, 'least among the civilians," Streetwise said, easing into the center lane, lights flashing and siren blaring. "Hostages are talking to a couple reporters and the cops by phone. They're scared, but so far the building's intact. Biggest problem the local cops got are the rubberneckers and the quote-unquote Wolf Blitzer wannabes trying to sneak in closer to the action."

"Okay." Hot Spot rolled along in silence, thinking carefully. The situation wasn't ideal, but it was better than he'd feared. "Streets, I want you and Groove to assist with crowd control. First Aid, you're on to assist the local paramedics -- you 're fully loaded, right?"

"Restocked my inventory this morning," First Aid said, speeding along behind Hot Spot. "Even have extras, though I really hope I don't need any of it."

"You and me both," Hot Spot said. "Groove, you're being awfully quiet back there, you keeping up?"

"Yeah, 'Spot, sure," Groove said. "Just worried about the Joes, y'know?"

"I know," Hot Spot said. "But we can't focus on that okay? They have their job to do and we've got ours."

"Yeah, 'Spot, sure," Groove said again, though he sounded unconvinced. Hot Spot didn't blame him, since he wasn't all that happy with their orders himself.

"Whoa!" Streetwise tapped his brakes, nearly causing Hot Spot to rear-end him. "The Joes just blasted Bruticus!"

"Great!" Blades moaned. "They're gonna get creamed and we're not _there_ yet! C'mon, Spot! At least let me scout ahead!"

"There's not much you can do against an angry Bruticus, Blades," Hot Spot said, though part of him wanted to blare his sirens and charge ahead to the battle.

"Are the Joes okay?" First Aid asked. "What about the hostages?"

"Yeah, are they okay?" Groove asked.

"Joes are okay so far, but -- you guys aren't gonna believe this! They nailed him! Bruticus went down, they forced him to separate and the cop I'm listening to is saying that Bruticus looks like modern art right now! The Joes did it! They stopped him!"

**X X X**

"They did it!" Blaster's ecstatic whoop echoed around the Command Center, making Prime look up in time to see Red Alert jerk around, hand going for his side arm in a reflex reaction to being startled by the sudden noise.

"Who did what?" Red Alert asked as he tried to shift into a more relaxed pose.

Blaster grinned, feet tapping out a little dance. "The Joes just landed a strike on Bruticus! He's down like Garfield on a Monday! They dropped him like he was hot!"

"Amazing," Prime said, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. "I've never been happier to be wrong."

"You said it, Prime!" Ironhide's grin matched Blaster's. "Knew they could do it! Didn't doubt it for a second; those Joes have real fightin' spirit! Good for them!"

Red Alert scowled and turned back to his console. "Good for them," he said. "Whether it's good for us, we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

"Aww, Red, give it a rest will ya?" Ironhide said. "We could use the help. Only so many troops we can bring here from Cybertron before we weaken our lines there. What's the harm in havin' a few humans who can kick Decepti-keister?"

"They've seen today that they can hurt us; that knowledge will not simply fade away." Red Alert turned back to the room, straightening up as if bracing himself for a blow. "I have no doubts about General Hawk's intentions toward us. He's an honorable man and whatever duplicity he uses, he uses toward the greater good. But Hawk does not lead this nation nor command its armed forces and it's the people who do that worry me."

**X X X**

"This just in! Amateur video footage from the scene of the Havefam Hostage crisis shows the GI Joe team striking a major blow against the Decepticon combiner unit, Bruticus!" Hector Ramirez was so excited as to be almost in tears; any semblance of journalistic detachment wiped away by the "This is a monumental event, ladies and gentlemen, truly we have seen David slay Goliath!"

"No." Crowther gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles went white as he watched Bruticus drop to the ground. "That's impossible! Not even Abernathy has that kind of luck!"

On screen, Bruticus lay on the now cracked and broken parking lot, looking like a broken toy tossed aside by some monstrously huge child. His limbs seemed intact, but his torso was mangled and twisted. If he'd been human, the fatality of the injury would have been obvious.

Crowther stared, only momentarily sickened to find himself hoping that the giant beast would stand up. He _needed_ the Joes defeated; their victory would destroy all his careful plans, would push too much support to the wrong places. If he was to succeed -- and by extension, if the world was to survive this alien menace -- the Joes had to fail and had to fail _now. _Better they lost the battle in order that other forces could win the war.

He was by turns relieved and horrified when the monster began to stir.

**X X X**

Bruticus fought to keep control of his limbs as they began to return to their five-space forms. He was hurt, badly, but he'd been hurt before. What made him so desperate to maintain awareness was that he was frightened. Frightened not of sinking back into slumber, but of not being able to come back, of disappearing into nothingness.

His brother-limbs, on the other hand, were not afraid. _They _were angry, angrier than Bruticus could ever remember having seen them. Their minds battered at him as he fought them for control. They were too strong, too furious for him to maintain his hold on consciousness and they succeeded in pushing him roughly away as they forced him back down into inactivity.

"Smash 'em! Annihilate the goo sacks!" Brawl snarled as Bruticus cowered, removing himself as a target of their fury.

**X X X**

Once, when she was eight, Cover Girl had been running through the yard on her family's farm when she stepped on an underground beehive. At the time, she didn't know that she'd killed the queen. All she'd known was that several hundred very angry bees were making their displeasure known by swarming over her in their own form of a honeybee _jihad._

As she watched the Combaticons begin to rise and take notice of their leader's body lying on the ground in a mangled heap, Cover Girl found herself missing the bees. At least she could have swatted them.

**X X X**

Brawl was the first to fully recover.

"Blast Off! Check on Onslaught!" Brawl ordered, snapping into action. "Vortex! Get up there and bring those squishy flyboys down! Swindle, you and me, we're keeping the humans pinned down while Blast Off works! We're gonna get Onslaught outta here!"

"I get to waste _two_ squishies? Oh, Brawly, you do love me!" Vortex giggled as he leapt into the air, transforming to helicopter mode.

"Quit playing around, Vortex!" Swindle yelled. "C'mon, Twitchy, this ain't a game!"

"Funny," Vortex said, tone bitingly serious. "I thought that's exactly what all this was. Just another one of Megatron's keep-us-busy games. Onslaught should know better by now."

"Settle down!" Brawl said. "Focus on the objective: defend Onslaught. You two can argue later!"

"Yessir!" Swindle and Vortex chorused as they took off. Part of Brawl was smugly satisfied with how quickly and easily the others snapped to and followed his orders. _Could get used to this_, he thought, opening a private channel to Blast Off. "How's Onslaught? Can we move him?"

"I need more time," Blast Off said. "I just started working here, Brawl. As he is, Onslaught can't transform and there's no way I can stretch myself enough to fit him in my cargo bay. The humans' missiles fused him in mid-transformation. If I can manage to clear the damage enough, I might be able to manually force a transformation. But I will need _time_ for that, Brawl. More than a few astroseconds."

"How much time?"

"As much as you can get me," Blast Off said. "For preference by letting me get to work instead of nattering at me!"

"We'll do our best; you do yours," Brawl said, switching back to the team channel. "Swindle, we gotta shift attention away from Blast Off while he works on Onslaught. You're faster than me an' 'Tex is busy in the air. I want you to run up close on the humans, spray 'em with fire and keep them down while I cover Blast Off and Onslaught."

**X X X **

Blast Off dampened his external audial sensors, turning the roar of battle into a distant whisper as he focused his full efforts on repairing Onslaught's wounds.

It wasn't fair. He'd never asked to be the team medic. His medical training was perfunctory at best; just enough to repair minor injuries or keep a severely wounded comrade alive until the real help could arrive.

By rights, Vortex was more skilled than he was but none of them wanted Vortex as a medic since the little sadist was all too apt to get distracted and do more damage just to see what happened. With Swindle there was the risk of waking up to find yourself sold for scrap. Again. And Brawl's idea of repairs was 'hit it until it does what I want' -- which admittedly worked well for recalcitrant teammates but not so much for delicate internal components.

Still, life wasn't fair, Blast Off reminded himself as he clamped off split fuel lines and mopped excess fluids out of Onslaught's chest cavity. The lines were important but nothing that couldn't wait until Onslaught was back at base and under the Constructicons' tender care.

Right now, the crucial thing was to get Onslaught transformed. To do that, Blast Off would have to get to Onslaught's transformation cogs, patch his own transformation circuits in to Onslaught's systems and shunt the correct commands to Onslaught's cogs and, likely, give a few pieces a good, Brawl-style thumping to bend bits back into place enough to forcibly transform Onslaught back at least to vehicle mode.

And then he saw it: a bright, pinkish glow where no glow should be. A crack the length of his smallest finger in Onslaught's personality component; damage that could only be repaired by a fully qualified medic, not someone with a few slapdash training courses.

It wasn't _fair_.

**X X X**

Flying a helicopter, according to Lift-Ticket's instructor back at Ft. Rucker, was as simple as riding a bike -- while juggling three balls and reciting Shakespeare.

Flying a helicopter in combat was like doing all of the above while somebody threw rocks at you.

Flying a helicopter in combat against another helicopter that was also a sentient being was like doing all of the above while you had a weasel down your pants. An _angry_ weasel.

Lift-Ticket's hands and feet flew over his controls, years of practice and muscle memory leaving his mind free to focus on tactics. And keeping out of Wild Bill's way.

He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. If anyone would enjoy a fight against a sentient helicopter, it would be Wild Bill. Lift-Ticket hadn't heard this many 'yee-haws' out of his fellow chopper pilot since the Cowboys had won the Super Bowl.

"Wild Bill, have you lost it completely?" Lift-Ticket grinned as Airborne radioed Wild Bill from his gunnery position. "You can tell us, really."

"Shoot, Airborne, this ain't nothing!" Wild Bill sounded like a kid on an amusement park ride. "Ol' boy here's a Super Seasprite! If we was subs, I'd be worried but we're flying tank killers!"

"He's a Seahawk that can think for itself," Lift Ticket said.

"Yeah, but he ain't _that_ bright. C'mon, boys, this is just like playin' Cowboys and Indians! Y'all played Cowboys and Indians, right?"

"When we played it, it was Native Americans and Paleface Oppressors." Airborne's tone was as dry as his native Arizona.

Wild Bill didn't seem to miss a beat. "Well, hell, I'm one-eighth Lipan Apache! Let's show this paleface oppressor how it's done!"

**X X X**

Vortex was angry, sore and beginning to fear that he was outclassed by the humans currently tormenting him.

The problem was Vortex had limited experience fighting against his own design. The only Autobot helicopter he faced on a regular basis was Blades, and when they fought it was usually as gestalt components. To make matters worse, there were no Decepticon choppers currently stationed on Earth -- and Onslaught had never seen the need to send Vortex to Cybertron for personal instruction.

So, to his embarrassment, Vortex found himself being teased and tormented by the human pilots. Half the time, they weren't even shooting at him; instead, they would fly in close, forcing him to turn and bank to avoid a mid-air collision. One of them, the red-haired one with the hairy face, had already flown in so close that their rotors almost intertwined.

Part of him knew he should transform to robot mode, where he could easily bloop the humans into submission. But doing so would be tantamount to admitting to being out-flown by squishies. And that would be an unforgivable insult added to the numerous injuries the humans had already heaped upon them all.

**X X X**

As the Combaticons attacked, Hawk weighed his options. They couldn't use the main guns on either the MOBAT or the Rolling Thunder. The risk of hitting the office building was too great and separately the Combaticons were too small and too fast. The only luck the Joes had was that Onslaught and Blast Off were out of the fight.

"That's it!" Reaching for his radio, Hawk began barking orders. "Wild Bill, Lift Ticket, continue focusing on Vortex! Force him down if you can. Corral him in the air if you can't! Cover Girl! Haul Grand Slam and the HAL in closer and concentrate fire on Swindle, drive that little SOB back! Salvo, Zap, concentrate your fire on Brawl! Short-Fuse, I want you dropping mortars on all of them! No pattern! Everyone else, concentrate laser fire on Blast Off and Onslaught! Force the others to group up to protect them! Armadillo, Steeler, be ready to fire a second volley from your main guns on my mark! Yo Joe!"

"Yo Joe!" The call was ragged, but defiant. Hawk's confidence bolstered his team.

**X X X**

Swindle charged the humans' defenses, pulling his wheels sharply to the right, causing himself to shift to the left. Rocking on his wheels, he whipped his scatter-blaster around and fired three blasts in quick succession. Red-hot pellets, each the size of a tennis ball, soared through the air, sending the humans diving for cover behind their vehicles.

For all the good it did them. Swindle grinned, the expression hidden deep within his chassis, as he heard several humans cry out in pain. Even more gratifying was the sight of one luckless soldier dropping to the ground as one of her legs was knocked out from under her.

His gloating was cut short by a volley of laser fire -- heavy stuff this time. Squealing his tires, Swindle threw himself into reverse and spun to face this new enemy.

It was a stationary laser cannon, manned by a single human soldier. Swindle almost laughed at the sandbags that were meant to serve as protection as he prepared to ram the cannon. "Can't even transform and run!"

**X X X**

Cover Girl raced for the nearest A.W.E. Striker, a plan forming even as she was clambering into the vehicle and starting it up.

It was a crazy, stupid plan, one that she'd never have done if she hadn't just watched Swindle drop one of the Greenshirt medics.

She floored the A.W.E. Striker, slamming into Swindle and attempting to push him away from Grand Slam and the Heavy Artillery Laser. The A.W.E. Striker was a lighter vehicle, but Swindle clearly hadn't been expecting the attack, giving her the advantage of surprise.

"Hey, fine sweetheart! If you want me to kill you first, that _can_ be arranged." Swindle's cocky, condescending tone reminded Cover Girl of -- well, too many men to count.

"Drop dead, sleazebag," she snarled. It wasn't one of her better comebacks, but following it up by tossing a pair of flash bangs before she veered off more than made up for her lack of wordplay.

The flash bangs distracted Swindle, frightening him too if his yelps were anything to go by. Cover Girl grinned hugely as she passed Grand Slam. "Hit him again!" she yelled. "Flip the little jerk!"

**X X X**

Brawl watched the human general. He didn't need Academy training to tell him they were in trouble. Onslaught's injuries had given the humans an edge against them -- not just because they'd also eliminated Bruticus. Their morale was up, they weren't about to back down now. It was Generistan all over again.

"How's Onslaught?" Brawl radioed Blast Off, while firing back at the humans' tank.

Blast Off didn't answer at first. Not a good sign, bad enough that Brawl hesitated on his next shot. "Blast Off, how _is _he? What's going on?"

Again, Blast Off didn't answer immediately. Brawl growled, angry and more scared than he wanted to admit. A quiet Combaticon was an evasive Combaticon, one trying to decide what to say and how best to deflect any anger and blame.

"Blast Off, tell me what's going on or so help me, I'm gonna use you as a club!"

"Onslaught is dying," Blast Off snarled back. "His personality component has a crack in it the length of my smallest finger. There is nothing I can do for him, particularly when I keep having to stop to shield him from the humans' attacks! I can't force a transformation and we can't move him like this! You're in charge, Brawl, make a dammed decision and tell me what do we do?"

Brawl looked over at the Joes, his gaze focusing on the tank and the assault vehicle Swindle had called the Rolling Thunder. It wasn't hard to figure out what the humans were planning. Brawl could have admired the plan, if it wasn't being used against him.

"Alright, listen up," Brawl said over the team channel. "Vortex, when I give the order, I want you to transform and land behind me on my right flank. Swindle, you get back here and transform too, left flank. Blast Off, stay where you are, but keep your hands where the Joes can see 'em."

"What's going on?" Swindle asked. "Ons okay? We retreating?"

"No, surrendering," Brawl said. "Blast Off, fill 'em in!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four:**

As Hawk watched, Brawl transformed to robot mode, bellowing "Cease fire!" as he stood. Even stranger, Swindle and Vortex obeyed the order, each one transforming and moving to flank Brawl. Only Blast Off stayed where he was.

"They can't be leaving," Mainframe said. "Onslaught's still wounded."

"Maybe they're abandoning him?" Dial-Tone sounded hopeful but not convinced.

"No." But Mainframe sounded just as unsure. "They wouldn't. They can't -- I think?"

Brawl took two steps forward, sending chunks of asphalt flying. "General Hawk!" he yelled. "We want to parlay! Tell your people to stand down!"

"What the hell?" Mainframe said. "Hawk, no way this is legit! It's a trick, gotta be!"

"No kidding," Dial-Tone said. "Question is, how'd they know Hawk's name?"

"Let's find out," Hawk said. "Joes, stand down. Hold position and be ready to fire when I give the order. Dial-Tone, you stay here. Anything happens, you're to call in reinforcements and tell Duke to do what it takes get our people home."

"Y-yessir, General Hawk." Dial-Tone climbed out of Hawk's Desert Fox. "Come back safe, okay?"

**X X X**

"We want to make a deal," Brawl said when Hawk and Mainframe arrived. His arms were crossed belligerently over his chest. Behind him, Swindle and Vortex mirrored his stance. Only Blast Off didn't bother posturing. Instead, he knelt by Onslaught, hands visible as he continued to work with understated urgency.

"What kind of a deal are you boys looking for?" Hawk asked.

Brawl waved Swindle forward. "Tell 'em."

"We need a medic." Swindle's voice held a note of desperation. Brawl rested a hand on Swindle's shoulder. "You squi-- you guys slagged Onslaught bad. Bad enough we can't fix 'em an' we can't get him transformed enough to get him back to base."

"My heart bleeds for you," Mainframe said. "You started this attack, we finished it. Sounds like it's karma coming back on you."

To Hawk's surprise, Swindle looked back at Brawl, as if for advice or reassurance. "Full disclosure," Brawl murmured. "Give 'em the whole truth, Swindle."

Swindle grunted sounding pained. "Onslaught's dying," he said, looking from Mainframe to Hawk.

Hawk's face remained bland as he stared up at Swindle. After a moment, Swindle looked at the ground, one foot nudging an asphalt chunk. "If you don't help him, he's going to go off-line, permanently. Last I checked, you Americans didn't just let people die."

"I don't know about you, Hawk, but I'm willing to make an exception for Combaticons," Mainframe said. "Autobots told us all about you. You guys are war criminals, remember? "

Hawk stepped in front of Mainframe as Swindle's optics went white with anger. "Come on, Swindle, from what I hear, you're all about the bottom line, so let's negotiate. What's in it for us if we help you? Warm fuzzies just aren't reason enough for us to save Onslaught."

"You want a deal?" Swindle grinned, but his optics were still bright with anger and also with something close to panic. He took a half step forward, bending down to stare Hawk fully in the face. "Sure, General Hawk, I got a deal for you! If you don't help Onslaught, we'll burn this city down. Even without Bruticus, we're strong enough to be a match for you and the Super Secret Squishy Squad back there! And without Onslaught, we got _nothing_ to lose!"

Swindle gestured behind him. "Havefam's corporate headquarters has a staff of approximately fifteen hundred workers, from the CEO down to the security guards. Behind them? Slag, there's easily two or three times that many in the housing developments to the south, west and east. You wanna race? Let Onslaught die and we'll see how many we can kill before you can take us down."

"What's to stop me from simply ordering my troops to fire on this position? Hawk asked as easily as he might order breakfast. "I'm just as willing to commit suicide as you are, Swindle. Give me a real reason to help you, not some puny threat."

"It's not a threat!" Swindle snapped. "We know you've been studying us. Remember Generistan? Your own government sat by and let us wipe out a dozen Generi villages. We'll do it here, larger than life and see what kind of funding you get then! You'll be in it so deep, not even General Crowther'll be able to get you out."

At the mention of Crowther's name, Hawk goggled and Swindle sneered, clearly secure in the belief that he'd struck a chord. "Your buddy General Crowther'll have to scrap his favorite squad -- or what's left of you when we're done!"

"General Crowther?" Hawk said. "What do you know about General Crowther?"

"If you want to find out, get us our medic," Brawl said, pulling Swindle back, turning his teammate around and pushing him back toward the others. "You got five breem to tell us what your decision is. An' if Onslaught dies in the meantime, all bets're off."

With that, Brawl turned around and stomped off, trailing Swindle.

"Five breem?" Hawk asked, working on the mental calculation. "That's..."

"A little less than forty-five minutes," Mainframe said. "Not a lot of time."

Hawk shook his head. "No, but that's never stopped us before. Let's get to it."

**X X X**

"What if they say no?" Vortex asked over the team's channel as the humans left.

"We tear this city apart," Brawl said. "Just like we promised. Just like the old days."

"They _won't_ say no." Swindle's reply was peevish. "They won't let us go berserk on civilians. They _can't_; it'll look bad."

"They haven't agreed to help us yet, Swindle," Blast Off said. "They could simply decide to let Onslaught die and kill us as well. You've certainly given them cause to want to gun us down. And, it's what we'd do."

"They're not us!" Swindle growled. "_They won't say no!_"

"Yeah, but what if they _do_?" Vortex asked, his voice detached but curious -- an interrogator's voice. "What happens to us?"

"We can't go back without Onslaught," Blast Off said. "No point. Megatron will simply do what the Autobots didn't."

"Then we'll make sure we have a nice high body count before the humans take us down," Brawl said. "Until then, we wait."

**X X X**

Hawk and Mainframe were halfway back to Joe lines before either of them spoke.

"How serious do you think they are about trashing the city?" Hawk asked.

"Completely," Mainframe said. "I wasn't being facetious when I called them war criminals, Hawk. What records the Autobots had about them showed that they were basically a goon squad back on Cybertron. They specialized in pacifying civilian targets -- just like they did in Generistan. Running wild over Pawtucket would be just another notch in their belts."

"What do you think our chances are of taking them out before they can make a move?"

Mainframe hesitated. "You mean, just gun them down?" he asked.

"Yes," Hawk said. "Would we be able to destroy them before they could make a move against the civilians in the area?"

Mainframe paused, taking a couple steps to catch up with Hawk before he answered. "They'll scatter," he said. "Any hostile move we make now, they will see as a threat and retaliate by scattering and attacking."

"Us or civilian targets?" Hawk asked.

"Civilians, without a doubt," Mainframe said. "They're bullies, Hawk. We hurt them, they'll want to hurt us back."

Hawk considered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "So, they're scared and desperate," he said. "Lovely. What do you recommend?"

"If we make a deal, we run the risk of the Decepticons pulling this kind of stunt again and again, any time they get in trouble." Mainframe sighed. "On the other hand, if we don't, the Combaticons will use us to commit suicide."

"I know, but what is your recommendation?" Hawk asked. "Give me your gut instinct on this."

"Make the deal," Mainframe said, without hesitation. "We can't gamble civilian lives on this. Besides, there's something fishy going on -- I could tell by the way you reacted when Swindle mentioned Crowther."

"Nice to see we're on the same page." Hawk chuckled. "That obvious, huh?"

"With all do respect sir, if _that's_ your poker face, don't play cards with Ace," Mainframe said. "He'd win your star."

Laughing, Hawk pulled alongside the Rolling Thunder. "Dial-Tone," he called as he climbed out of the Desert Fox. "Over here!"

"Yessir!" Dial-Tone jogged up, puffing slightly.

Solemnly, Hawk put his hand on Dial-Tone's shoulder. "We need to make a radio check," Hawk said. "Since this is, essentially, a live-fire exercise, I want to test our long-range communications' effectiveness."

"Yessir, General Hawk," Dial-Tone said, looking equally solemn. "Do you have a target in mind?"

"Oh, I think the West Coast is a good target," Hawk said. "Oregon, perhaps? The Ark, to be specific. Think you can do it?"

"It'll be tricky," Dial-Tone said, breaking into a grin. "But, I think I can!"

**X X X**

"Greetings, General Hawk." Red Alert was his usual carefully polite, guarded self. "We've seen the footage of your battle -- rather impressive what you did to Bruticus."

"Thank you." Hawk shook his head, waving a hand as if to dismiss the faint praise. "It was luck, pure and simple. A moment or two either way and we'd have missed our chance -- but that's not why I'm calling. We need a medic, a Cybertronian medic."

Red Alert's guard slipped, his face showing surprise. "A medic? For who -- for _Onslaught_? Have you lost your mind?"

"Probably; you're not the first one to ask that," Hawk said. "We've made a deal with the rest of the Combaticons -- we save Onslaught, they give us some information we need."

"What sort of information?" Red Alert's characteristic wariness was in full swing again.

"Among other things, how the Decepticons came to know that we were training in anti-Decepticon tactics. And why they're name dropping certain high-ranking officials in connection with said training."

Red Alert sat back, considering this. Hawk had sat through enough appropriations meetings to know a bargaining look when he saw one. "Would the dropped name happen to be 'Crowther'?" Red Alert asked.

"It might." Except for scale and material composition, Hawk's look was a match for Red Alert's.

"And would you be willing to share this information once it's gathered?"

"Of course," Hawk said. "And if you happened to have any information that might also be useful?"

Red Alert didn't answer, at least not directly. "The Protectobots are en route to Pawtucket. Their ETA should be between ten and fifteen minutes. They were instructed to observe and assist civilian rescue workers -- officially, I will _not_ change that order; the Decepticons have led the gestalt gap for too long. _But_, if you explain the situation to Hot Spot and if he decides to agree, there's nothing I can do about it from here. Red out."

**X X X**

Once the ceasefire had been declared, it hadn't taken the Joes long to establish a temporary camp. A makeshift hospital had been created by the simple expedient of erecting a simple tarp lean-to and a mess hall consisted of a wounded-but-still-functioning Greenshirt passing out MREs and canteens of water.

Hawk took advantage of the lull to eat; his deadline was fast approaching, but he wasn't about to scurry over to the Combaticons. Let them see him looking calm and relaxed; let them sweat a bit. Or overheat or whatever their equivalent to sweating was.

As Hawk surveyed the area, keeping a watchful eye on his Joes, a small, strange convoy approached. Civilian rescue vehicles had been moving in and out of the area for a while now, mostly police but a few fire companies had been called out. However, none of the local companies had powder-blue fire trucks, nor did any of the local PDs have a driverless motorcycle. Clearly, the Protectobots had arrived.

Hawk set his MRE aside and drained his canteen cup of water before setting off to meet the Protectobots. As he approached, the fire truck -- Hot Spot -- transformed and stepped over to him.

"General Hawk, we're here to help," Hot Spot said. "Though, by the looks of things, you guys have things under control."

"Oh, I think we can find a few jobs for you," Hawk said. "Primarily, I'd like for First Aid to take a look at Onslaught. According to his people, he's dying."

Hot Spot looked over to where Blast Off stood by Onslaught's injured form. "You guys did that?" he said, looking down at Hawk with surprise and respect. "We heard you'd hit 'em but, wow!"

Hawk grinned. "We hit them before they could finish merging," he said. "MOBAT and Rolling Thunder's main guns."

"Whoa." Hot Spot looked at Onslaught again. "Y'know, maybe Red Alert's right to be worried about you guys. But, now you want to fix him?"

"It's part of a deal we made, " Hawk said. "They'll free the hostages if we save Onslaught. Plus, they have some information that I want about why they're here in the first place. Can we count on First Aid's help?"

The nice thing about Cybertronian body language was that it was easy to read -- every gesture and movement was writ large across their billboard-like bodies. Hawk could tell by Hot Spot's posture that he wanted very badly to say 'no.' Not that Hawk blamed him. The temptation to do unto others what they would most certainly have done unto you was strong -- particularly in the case of a pack of mad dogs like the Combaticons.

"We're technically only here to observe," Hot Spot said, hedging. "That kind of involvement, I don't know..."

"If Onlsaught dies, they've promised a rampage," Hawk said. "Not only against us and the hostages, but also against the civilians surrounding us." Hawk paused, feeling Hot Spot's uncertainty radiating off of him. "Can Defensor stop them?"

"We don't need Defensor," Blades snapped. "We can take them out _now_. C'mon, Spot, give the order and we can get this over with!"

Hawk watched Hot Spot's hands clench and unclench, and for a moment, he wondered what he would do if Hot Spot yielded to temptation. They'd gotten lucky with Bruticus; he didn't want to even contemplate having to turn weapons on his allies.

"Hot Spot, tell him yes," First Aid said, his tone gentle but firm enough that it was clear that the medic would brook no arguments. "That way, you don't have to write me up for insubordination when I do it anyway."

"Don't be stupid, First Aid," Blades said. "They'd leave us to die and laugh about it. Why help them now?"

"It doesn't matter what _they'd_ do, Blades. It matters what _I_ do, what _we_ do. We're not murderers." First Aid looked back at Hot Spot. "If this were a fight, that would be one thing, but it's not. Onslaught's dying and I cannot stand by and let that happen -- and neither can any of you. We're not them."

"Watch me!" Blades said.

"Shut up, Blades," Hot Spot said. "First Aid's right. General, tell them you've got a medic and tell us how we can help."

**X X X**

Hot Spot accompanied Hawk back out to the Combaticons' position, carefully shortening his steps so that Hawk was in the lead.

"Those are our terms," Hawk said, staring up at Brawl. "You will release the hostages and allow my people and the Protectobots to escort them out of the area before the repairs will begin."

"We'll let the humans go, yeah," Brawl nodded, seemingly nonplussed by the idea. "They're not important anymore anyway. You know what'll happen if Onslaught doesn't make it."

"Squish go the squishies," Swindle stage-whispered and snickered while Vortex giggled, until a rumble from Brawl shut them both up.

"I do." Hawk ignored the exchange. "In addition, you and your teammates will disarm yourselves of all external weaponry and submit to mode locks for the duration of the repairs. You will remain here, under guard."

Brawl looked first at the MOBAT and Rolling Thunder which had been moved into position along with Grand Slam's HAL. Then he studied Hot Spot. "I want Blast Off to watch the repairs; make sure the Prots don't do anything they shouldn't."

"That's fine," First Aid said. "I don't mind."

"Fair enough, then," Hawk said. "But I want to know what you know about Crowther."

"That's extra," Swindle said. "Brawl, get something from 'em first."

Brawl glanced back at Swindle, grunting. "Get us some fuel and get them started working on Onslaught and then we can talk about that other stuff."

"We don't exactly carry energon around as standard equipment," Hawk said. "But, I suppose we can see what we can do."

"Diesel will work for me an' Swindle; Vortex and Blast Off can take avgas."

"Fine. We'll get the supplies here ASAP, once the hostages are cleared from the area. Hot Spot, if you'll instruct First Aid to begin his repairs, you and Blades can help oversee the Combaticons' disarming."

"With pleasure, General Hawk. Streetwise and Groove will assist with the hostages."

"Suits," Hawk said. "In that case, Brawl, you and your teammates can get started disarming."

**X X X**

Forrest Forsythe entered General Crowther's office and smiled at the harried-looking general. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes! It's about damn time you got here," said Crowther, face verging on beet red. "Have you seen the news out of Pawtucket?"

"I was en route from my office, General," Forsythe said. "So the answer would be 'no.' What's the situation? Have the robots made any progress?"

"See for yourself." Crowther gestured toward his television set. The sound was, for the moment, muted but the images on the screen spoke for themselves.

On screen, a news helicopter was providing aerial footage of the Havefam corporate headquarters. The parking lot was a shattered wreck: cars had been tossed around like toys. The landscaped grounds were little more than occasional patches of green speckled over a muddy field. A line of people, office workers mostly, were filing out of the building in ones and twos and occasionally in small clusters. They were being escorted through the wreckage by green-clad soldiers, who in turn were being assisted by a pair of red and white robots.

Forsythe frowned. "What happened?"

"Reportedly, the Joes have subdued the Decepticons," Crowther said. "The Autobots sent 'observers' who are now assisting in the rescue operation of the hostages. But that's not the best bit."

Crowther picked up his remote control and unmuted the sound as the picture switched to the view of yet another red and white robot bent over what appeared to be a teal and olive-colored scrap heap[.

"As you can see, the Protectobot First Aid is working diligently to save the life of Combaticon leader Onslaught while the hostages are being led away from Havefam corporate headquarters toward the busses that will take them to an undisclosed location for further assistance." The footage cut from the scene to Hector Ramirez in the CNN studio. "At this time, the rest of the Combaticons are in protective custody at the scene; what will ultimately happen to them is unknown at this time but stay tuned for further updates as this incredible story develops."

Crowther slammed his fists on his desk. "I told them to stay out of this! Damn Prime and his interference! Damn Abernathy and his luck!"

"Relax, Crowther, we can still spin this to our advantage," Forsythe said. "_You_ see luck, _I_ see collusion -- not to mention an opportunity for further research into Cybertronian anatomy."

Crowther turned to look at him, as hopeful as a drowning man spotting a life preserver. "Tell me more."

**X X X**

Hawk, this time accompanied by Sci-Fi and Salvo, approached Brawl and his teammates. As they got closer, Hawk glanced over to where Mainframe and Cover Girl were assisting First Aid with the repairs on Onslaught. And, most especially, to where Blast Off stood nearby, keeping a close watch on the proceedings.

The Combaticons had also taken the time to make themselves comfortable. Brawl sat on a stack of demolished cars looking for all the world like some barbarian warlord straight out of Central Casting. Swindle and Vortex stood slightly off to one side, Swindle carefully inspecting Vortex's rotor blades for signs of damage. None of them gave even the slightest indication that they were concerned about Onslaught's situation -- though Hawk suspected all of them knew everything that was happening to their leader and not just because Blast Off was likely delivering minute by minute reports.

Hawk stepped up to the "Huns," his hands on his hips. He nodded acknowledgement to Hot Spot and Blades who were guarding the three Combaticons with the assistance of Zap, Grand Slam and two squads of Greenshirts.

"Alright." Hawk looked up at Brawl, meeting the robot's gaze. "We kept our part of the deal; now you boys need to keep yours -- how'd you come to attack us?"

Brawl grunted, gesturing for Swindle to step forward. "Tell him what he wants to know. The truth; you lie and you answer to me."

"Swindle's going to tell the truth?" Blades said. "Mark it on your calendar, folks. This is an event!"

"Cram it, Prot.' Swindle patted Vortex on the shoulder as he moved closer to Hawk. "It's not like there's that much to tell. Soundwave intercepted some communiqués about you guys training with the Autobots. Megatron wanted you swatted down an' since we're good at that kinda thing, he sent us. No big deal, at least not until you guys went and made it personal."

Swindle's overly casual tone made Hawk's fists itch and by the way Salvo was muttering under his breath, he wasn't the only one disgusted with the Combaticon's attitude. On the whole, it wasn't much different from that of many Cobra operatives Hawk had dealt with over the years -- certainly the blasé attitude toward mayhem and destruction wouldn't have been out of place among the Dreadnoks. But the Dreadnoks, at least technically, were still human rather than some obnoxious, self-important, inorganic alien _thug_.

With an effort, Hawk brought his thoughts and his temper back under control. "Alright," he said. "How'd you hear about General Crowther?"

"His name was all over the reports," Swindle said, looking skyward as if seeking patience. "Him and some geek named Forsythe were talking about the need to have a force capable of handling the Decepticon threat. The Joes were all they could talk about."

"Really?" Hawk thought a moment. "...any chance you have copies of these reports? With you, I mean?"

Swindle looked down at him, as crafty and conniving as Shipwreck trying to finagle a three-day pass. "Yeah, maybe but...what's in it for us?"

Before Hawk could answer, Brawl leaned forward and swatted the back of Swindle's head hard enough to make the smaller robot stagger. "Quit smarting off! Give them the info they want! Now!"

"I'm telling him what he wants!" Swindle whined, shifting his position so that he was almost out of Brawl's reach. "I just needed a sec to make a copy of the stupid files."

"Shut up and do it then," Brawl said. "Quit antagonizing the humans."

In a matter of moments, Swindle handed over a silver disc the size of a record album. "Here," he said, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. "That's got all the data we downloaded when we were planning the mission, more or less. Anything else you want? Plans for our base? Megatron's passwords?"

"Maybe later," Hawk said, handing the disc to Sci-Fi, who held it carefully. "Let me see what we have here and if we need more, I'll be back."

center b To Be Continued /b /center 


End file.
